Thanks to the usuals- Emily, for sharing my mind and my thoughts (the latter a little creepy but awesome nonetheless). Andy, for sharing my brainwave. Susan, for threatening me into posting (I was touched, really). And to all three aforementioned for the support :) And of course to my reviewers :) the response I am getting is so awesome I can't even comprehend it, seriously.

Okay, now that that mushy-gushy stuff is out of the way, lets move on to the caskett kind of mushy-gushy stuff.

I hope everyone gets the title other than me...

here it is:


Inertia

Beckett charged into the precinct. Ryan and Esposito were booking both Marcus and the Gregory brothers, and she needed to prepare. She needed Joshua Gregory in the nearest available interrogation room, and she needed him in there now. She paid no mind to the throbbing headache she now had, the egg on the back of her head or the scrapes she had gathered, but focused on the case.

She would shred him apart- she was so angry she didn't even care when Ryan and Esposito traded bets on how long he lasted. She made a beeline for interrogation but was stopped by a hand clasping around her wrist. Whoever the poor soul was that just grabbed her was about to lose their arm. She whipped around to see it was Castle. He shook his head, gravely. "Castle, I need to-"

But he stopped her, he stepped a little too close to her, not releasing his grip on her wrist. It wasn't tight and she could take it back if she wanted, but for some reason she didn't. "Calm down, Kate," he told her, softly, so others wouldn't hear. "I listened to you, now it's your turn," he told her, pulling her along. She didn't want to listen and she sure as hell wasn't ready to calm down, but she followed him anyways. 20 yards and eight floors later they were in the morgue for the second time that day. Lanie was nowhere to be found, so Castle led her into the empty room and lifted her onto the nearest vacant table. She sat there, arms crossed and face set in agitation as she watched him raid the cabinets. A few minutes later he returned to her with a first aid kit.

"Castle," she began, but he shushed her, so she resumed crossing her arms in defiance. He set out the bandages and picked up the Hydrogen Peroxide. "I don't need you to take care of me, Castle," She said maybe a little more harshly than she meant to, and she could tell by the way he stepped backwards that her words stung him.

"I know that," he told her, calmly, recovering and stepping closer until he was inches from her face and well into her personal bubble. "Let me do it anyway." It was more or less a question, so she shut her eyes in a silent invitation. He doused a cotton swab before taking her chin in his hand, carefully applying it to the large scrape she wore there. She winced at first, the chemical stinging as it cleansed the dirt from her raw skin, fizzling in an almost familiar way. Too many times she had been in this position- that is, roughed up after a fight, but never like this- no, for some reason this was different.

There was no lust in the way he was holding her or desire in his eyes- just concern. Concern for her wellbeing. For some reason she found this far more intimate. "Stop fidgeting, would you?" he said, his voice hushed- the only reason she could hear was the fact that her face was inches form his. He still cupped her chin while he dabbed Neosporin on her now clean cut and sealed over it with a Band Aid. She watched him work in silence, neither of them really willing to talk. He didn't look quite ready to let go of her because he just held her there, looking for a moment longer before he bent his head and placed a kiss over the bandage.

She closed her eyes involuntarily but all too soon he was pulling away and resuming his work. He did the same thing with the wound on her cheek, peroxide, Neosporin, bandage and kiss, in that order. His lips lingered a tiny moment there, and she felt his breath hot on her skin. No words were shared, just a silence that spoke volumes. He reached into the kit and pulled out a bottle of Advil. He handed her two and she downed them, not bothering with water as she gulped down the pills, gratefully. Again he was so close she could feel his body heat radiating off of him. It may have had to do with the cold air of the morgue, but it was painfully obvious how warm he was. How nice it would be to curl up to him and around him and with him.

She fancied the idea before pushing it out of mind.

He used a moisture wipe to clean off the rest of her face- the dirt and rubble picked up from the shuffle, and taking with it some of the tension in her brow. The warmth of his body was more and more inviting, and she was finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to reach for him.

But she did.

He looked at her some more, just searching her eyes with his. She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered if he was wondering what she was thinking.

He was.

There was a lot of wondering happening.

He was nearing her again, and although she was wary she didn't move away. She said she would let him take care of her, and that was exactly what she would do. He rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes, his arms wrapped around her middle, fingers tracing patterns on her back. His nose brushed against hers, once, twice, then moved down to her cheek. The simply light touch trailed all the way down her cheek, leaving tingles in its wake. It traveled down her jaw and under it, where at last his lips met her skin with the slightest of pressure. Down further he continued, down her neck until he reached her pulse. Again he planted his lips there, but this time held it.

Beneath his kiss her pulse thrummed, her heart beating. He took a moment to relish this.

Her.
Alive.

It beat steady and strong, something he would never take for granted. His tongue darted out to feel it, and her hand found his hair, tightening around his brown locks. Instead of perusing that line of action like they both wanted, he pulled his mouth away, content to rest his forehead in that little nook the juncture of her neck and shoulder created. He fingers still drew nonsensical designs on her lower back, easing away the tension harboring itself there.

He wanted to speak.
To say something, to tell her.

But he didn't want to ruin it even more,
So he clamped his mouth shut, and allowed himself to hold her a moment longer.

It was a good few minutes before he pulled away. It felt like forever and two seconds all at the same time. As he released her he caught her gaze, smiling a little before he licked his thumb and wiped away a smudge of dirt he missed before, right about her cheekbone. She mirrored his smile, understanding. "All better," he tells her, and it's the first time someone's spoken. She smiled and nodded. "Thank you," he told her, before offering a hand out to help her down from the table. She accepted, and let him pull her off her makeshift seat, but when he turned to leave the morgue, she kept her hand in his and didn't follow. He turned around, stopped by her grip and faced her, his body pulled towards her due to some sort of gravitational law he couldn't remember.

And then their lips were locked and she was holding him against her- a hand resting on his cheek. He was too stunned to move at first and it was only her, trying to show him what he was showing her. Trying to tell him that she knew. That she did, too. His senses kicked in and he managed to wrap and arm around her waist, opening up the kiss. She wanted to give in and let him take over but refused.

He said what he needed to, and he did so without a word.
It was her turn.

There was a battle for dominance she won over with ease, slanting her mouth and thus giving her better access. She put as much meaning as she could in that kiss- tried to convey how she felt, how he made her feel.

How much better he made the situation. At last, she pulled away, just enough to break the kiss but hover, her lips nearly brushing his as they both tried to catch their breath. "Thank you," she told him, maintaining her propinquity.

She smiled and let herself sink into his arms for a moment, not quite ready to put distance between them. She concentrated on him around her, trying to memorize the feel of it. She found herself wishing they had that conversation earlier. The one where he realized how dangerous her job was and she set it straight. But then glad she didn't at the same time. This seemed like the closure both of them needed on the matter.

A silent negotiation of sorts.

It was then she pulled away, dropping her hand from his face and taking a step back. He grabbed her hand in his again, leading her out of the morgue. "Now go get your man, Kate." He told her.


Fact: I don't like this ending as much compared to the others, but alas, humor was not appropriate here.

So I hope this chapter pleases- and I hope I conveyed my message well.

If it did, review and make my day.
If it didn't review and yell at me about it, and still make my day.

It's right underneath these words, and it doesn't take time at all. :)

softer